Rude and Ginger
by Mooguri Klaine
Summary: KOSCHEI X THETA ACADEMY FIC. The result of an untimely regeneration yielded some interesting results.


**Rude and Ginger by Mooguri Klaine**

_A/N: Oh my goodness, I'm (sorta) back, and I just wanted to post something new. I MISS THIS 3 And then whee, hello to the Doctor Who fandom. My first attempt after 65374years of inactivity. KOSCHEIxTHETA, in their Academy days. Enjoy!  
_

_Warning: Grasped at bits of TV canon and ran away with it._

In its desire to produce the best minds in society, and in turn use them to gather knowledge and utilize it for the benefit of Gallifrey (so the brochure states), the Academy was founded to achieve such aims. And to ensure that the students deliver optimum results, there are plenty of means to achieve such ends – both honourable and downright insane. But there is one thing that remains constant throughout the Academy's billion-year history: the rivalry among the three Chapters: Patrexes, Arcalia, and Prydon.

The Chapter rivalry takes its roots from noble intentions, all just a way of fostering camaraderie and team spirit, as well as maintaining healthy competition to keep the students above their wits. But a billion years tend to muddle, distort, deny, and altogether ignore its once-noble intentions.

Now the Chapters are out to outdo, cheat, and maim each other in any way possible.

To say that nothing good ever comes out of this is untrue; Gallifrey has never been in a shortage of Time Lord genii, who invented new and forward technology while some ascended to Lord Presidency. And so, the rivalry was encouraged and tolerated to a certain extent.

Being the most devious of the Chapters, students from the Prydon like to upset the balance – so delicate and so dearly kept by the Academy heads, as would a child defending his sand castle against a tsunami – and it is met with equal and opposite force from the two fronts.

It got so out of hand that an all-out Chapter War (later referred in the Matrix as CW 34543571) broke out, where scuffles ended in bodily harm and death, followed by a burst of regeneration, a moment of awkward silence, followed by someone asking for a mirror, and then back into the fray again.

This would've been interesting and exciting, but the Council is obviously alarmed at the way students are wasting their regenerations like they were scratch papers provided in an FTL and TT calculations exam (no one could get the solution absolutely right in one go, as one would account for as few as three variables – N-Space, Time Vortex, and the Void – to as many as…how many parallel dimensions crammed in between them one would like to include, and oh dear Rassilon, the wormholes too, which has a whole subset of equations). A Time Lord has more lives than a cat, but not as many as he'd like to have. Of course, one can be given a new set of regenerations as you would asking for a new set of socks, but the Council won't give one so easily, socks included. And so, punitive action must be given, and fast.

Needless to say, Koschei Sigma is among the offenders, as the official summons from the Council would have it. Though from his end, he is actually a victim. At the moment, he is confined in the Zero Room, recovering from his first regeneration.

Eight hundred years too early.

Koschei exhales a tired sigh as he examines his new hands. Squarish. He feels the wave of regenerative energy still in flux. Looking at the mirror, he regrets not being able to exercise control on how he should look like. For a moment, he holds in his mind his first form briefly; at least the ridiculous bowl he had for hair is gone.

Koschei is drawing a blank; he has little time to think of something to say to the Council. Sorry, maybe? There's no point crying over spilled milk, or lost regeneration, as in this case.

He stops. How can he explain this exactly? The first regeneration was a result of carelessness and ignorance. It was never his intention to get himself killed. And before he knew it, a rush of hot light, then his form melted and the beat of his two hearts drummed and fought to stabilize him. Like a tide, his senses rose and fell, washing over him before he succumbed to unconsciousness.

"How are you feeling?" Koschei's thoughts are interrupted as he looks up in response and sees a figure approach him.

Theta Sigma regards him with barely suppressed curiosity; Koschei sees Theta's hand twitch for a moment. Interference inside the Zero Room is theoretically a no-no; healing does a bit of rewiring and stabilizing Time Lord DNA, and contact may cause unexpected mutation. An ongoing rumor persisted among the students that the current Lord President looking like pasty oatmeal was result of contamination in the Zero Room.

"Go away, Theta, I'm recuperating," Koschei says. He feels his stomach lurch, his knees buckle. Still not stable enough, he thinks rather hastily.

"In a tetchy mood, so early in the regeneration. Is that the makings of a new personality?"

"Maybe."

"Unsure. That could be the onset of insecurity. What do you reckon?"

Koschei scowls. "Insecurity? I'm in a new body, everything's all new. I hardly feel insecure." The waves recede considerably, and he feels at ease momentarily. He likes it when he and Theta banter.

"Vain," Theta assesses.

"That's because I _am_ good-looking."

"Delusional."

"Tell me, were you sent by the Council to check on my regeneration's checklist of traits?" Koschei raises an eyebrow.

Theta stares at him in mock surprise. "Oh dear. And Borusa told me you'll never notice!"

"What does he take me for, an idiot?"

"That remains to be seen."

"Funny, Theta. Let's see you _degenerate_ into one. When that time comes, do tell."

Theta's brow creases. "You know, there's a word that sums you up. Cheek, maybe? How are you feeling again? You look pale. Or is that your skin tone?"

"Every cell in my body is going haywire," he murmurs in reply, as he rests his head on his knees. His hearts don't seem to fare any better.

Theta frowns at him. "Well, you better get your act together, because we still have modulars tomorrow, regeneration or not."

Koschei smirks. Theta isn't exactly a student who worries about modulars, and having failed more than half of them shows how little he cares for academic standing. Keen to point that out, he looks up again to reply and is surprised to find himself face to face with him. His hearts almost stop.

Then, Theta runs his hand through Koschei's hair. "I like your hair now – all ginger and fire." Koschei, in his turbulent, swirling state, feels the touch like electricity surging. He gapes silently, as wave after wave of his inner essence thrashes around. He doesn't notice Theta standing up, going for the exit. Theta fumbles with the door for a moment.

"Rude."

Koschei snaps out of the sensation. "Beg pardon?"

Theta turns around with a big smile, as if he realized something great. "You're rude." He states it simply, without any trace of negativity.

Koschei doesn't take offense at his words. He keeps silent for a moment, and steels his resolve to ask the question he had been asking himself and perhaps, what every Time Lord ought to be asking.

"Is it still me in this new body?" he asks, in a soft voice. He can barely contain his surging essence. Perhaps he had died, and only his name is all that remains. If he were to change again, and be lost in a crowd, would Theta find and recognize him still?

Theta stares unblinkingly at him.

"You've changed. It's still you."

The waves recede and are still.

Theta folds his arms and pouts. "But you're still rude. And ginger. I wonder what else went wrong with your regeneration. You're going to get into more trouble, trust me."

With a grin, Koschei answers, "Count on it."

He watches as Theta's mouth breaks into a grin. Theta motions for the door handle. "See you later, Koschei."

Koschei stares at the door for a long time with a flurry of mixed emotions. He doesn't know where to begin: that Theta impulsively made contact with a Zero Room patient, or that Theta admitted to liking his new form.

Rude and ginger.

Quite a combination.

Koschei continues to grin in spite of himself. He'd have to keep this form for as long as he can. But he hurriedly grabs a mirror to examine himself, in case his face turns into some pasty oatmeal.

_FIN_

_A/N: It has been my personal canon that The Doctor wanted to be ginger was because, well, he'd seen the Master in it. Which just floats my boat. Thanks for reading!_


End file.
